


My Name is Oliver Queen - The Nyssa Edition

by snow_duchess



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Missing Scenes, My Name is Oliver Queen, Nyssa-centric, Season 3 Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-03 09:47:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4096375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snow_duchess/pseuds/snow_duchess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of missing or extended scenes focusing on Nyssa’s arc from the Arrow Season 3 finale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Union

He had known from the beginning it wouldn’t be easy.

He knew he would be tortured and conditioned. He knew he would have to kill and serve without question. He knew he would be sacrificing the love and trust of those closest to him.

He never once thought he would end up married to Nyssa al Ghul.

As Oliver navigated the halls of Nanda Parbat, still wearing his ceremonial garb from the wedding, he wondered if he had the strength for this last remaining hurdle. Ra’s had made it abundantly clear what he expected, and Oliver was to be left alone with Nyssa for the first time since they fought on that rooftop.

Following the ceremony, his bride had grown unsettlingly withdrawn. Her venomous glower had faded to a dazed numbness, and she had simply stared at the food placed in front of her, no longer seeming to possess the defiance to wave the servants off. Preoccupied by talk of preparations for the following day, Ra’s scarcely paid his daughter a second thought when she weakly requested leave from the table.

It was only a short time later that Oliver did the same.

Arriving at the door to his destination, he was greeted deferentially by the pair of sentries standing guard. Nodding in acknowledgment, Oliver drew in a deep breath. Of all the challenges he had faced as Al Sah-him, the one awaiting him on the other side of that door was by far the most daunting. Steeling himself, he stepped past the sentries and through the portal. Two more guards kept vigilant watch immediately within, and Oliver withheld a sigh; the Demon’s Daughter had not been allowed a moment of privacy since she was taken prisoner days before. He ignored them and made his way deeper into the chamber.

Through the flickering light of the room’s many candles, he could see Nyssa on the balcony, staring off into the night. She had already traded her wedding gown for something decidedly more practical, and her hair was free of it previous styling and ruffling lightly in the breeze.

He sent a quiet command over his shoulder. “You can go now. All of you.”

To his relief, all four sentries bowed their heads and vacated their posts, the last of them respectfully closing the door. With a decisive motion, Oliver slid the lock bar into place.

This was not an encounter he wanted interrupted.

He silently crossed the room, approaching his new wife with as much caution as one might a cornered animal. Nyssa had yet to acknowledge him, but even through the darkness shrouding the balcony, he saw it clear as day.

She was shaking.

Much like the tears that had welled in her eyes when they stood at the altar, the sight caused him genuine remorse for the true Heir to the Demon to be so defeated. He drew breath to speak, but she cut him off with all but a snarl.

“ _Get out_.”

Without thinking, Oliver reached out a hand and touched her arm, hoping to prompt her to look at him. “Nyssa—”

The punch came faster than he could react to, landing solidly against his jaw and knocking him backwards. Not stopping there, Nyssa locked her hands around the back of his neck, wrenched him downward, and brought her knee sharply up into his stomach. She then pivoted behind him as he heaved for breath and constricted her arms around his throat, further cutting off his air.

“Nyssa!” he gasped, barely able to form the word. “Nyssa, wait! I’m not going to hurt you!”

“On that we agree,” she returned darkly.

She adjusted her grip, and Oliver felt the pressure shift from his wind pipe to his cervical spine. A little more force, and his neck would snap. Taking advantage of the opportunity to speak with greater ease, he quickly made his point.

“Ra’s will use the Alpha-Omega to destroy Starling City!”

The assassin, however, was unmoved. “Why do you tell me what I already know?”

“Because I want you to help me stop him.”

That gave Nyssa pause, and her hold loosened a fraction. “And I should trust the man who left his friends to die.”

“They’ve been inoculated against the virus,” Oliver revealed. “They’ll be fine.” The pressure on his neck weakened a tiny bit more, spurring him on. “I had to prove my loyalty to Ra’s, had to make him believe Oliver Queen was dead, but all this will be for nothing if I don’t stop him. Then the others really will die.”

Nyssa was quiet for a few seconds. Then, “Pretend for a moment I believe you. Give reason for me to betray my father on your behalf.”

“You already betrayed him when you stole the Alpha-Omega.” Her grip grew suddenly slack. Whether in shock at the accusation or because he hit a nerve, it was hard to tell. “You took it for a reason, Nyssa. You have a second chance to keep it from being used.”

“Killing you would serve equal purpose,” the woman asserted, her arms tensing in subtle reminder that she could—and would—follow through. “Father would have no more reason to attack Starling without you to succeed him.”

“He would see you dead for it.”

“No. He would do far worse,” she assured him grimly.

Despite Nyssa’s threat of death—and knowing it likely still loomed over him—Oliver knew he was getting through to her. “I understand your anger with me,” he told her softly, “but I had just as little choice in this as you did. He ran my sister through with a sword.”

“And she survived. A wonder _she_ is not in line to become the next Ra’s al Ghul.”

The bitter sarcasm seemed to cap off Nyssa’s hostility, and she finally released him. Cautiously, Oliver turned to face her and waited for her to speak. When she did, the previous edge to her tone was replaced by weariness.

“You haven’t given me an answer. Stopping the Demon’s Head will take nothing short of killing him. What reason do I have to aid you in the attempt?”

“Because if you don’t, you’ll never be free of him.”

“I was never meant to be free,” she told him with desolate certainty. She shook her head, her expression shadowed by conflict. “I will not deny I have dreamt of the day I might end his life…but he is my father.”

“After what he’s forced you to do, what he’s threatened you with?” Oliver challenged. “Nyssa, any man who does that to his own daughter is no father. I know you know that.”

She let the statement pass without retort. “And if we fail? You should know by now, sooner or later Ra’s al Ghul always gets what he wants.”

“Not this time. Not if we work together, if we _trust_ each other. Ra’s made a mistake forcing us together, one I would take advantage of.” At her silence, Oliver entreated her one final time. “Nyssa, please. Help me save my city.”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she brushed past him and returned to the balcony. It had been a risk to reveal his intent to her, he knew. Nyssa had only to go to her father, and Oliver would have no more façade to hide behind, no further shows of loyalty to offset suspicion. Nevertheless, it was a risk that had to be taken; Nyssa was the wildcard he couldn’t leave to chance.

After several minutes without response, Oliver was ready to concede and leave Nyssa to her thoughts. Then, he heard her sigh.

“What’s your plan?”


	2. Covenant

In retrospect, it wasn’t one of his better plans.

Ra’s escaping with the sole parachute Oliver had surreptitiously left on board for Nyssa quickly dismantled his self-sacrificing aspirations, and he was forced to crash land a cargo plane with only two out of the four engines in working condition.

When he regained his senses, smoke was filling the cockpit, and an orange glow was swelling outside the viewports. He felt a wetness roll down his forehead and nose, and when he absently wiped at it, his fingers came away smeared red. In the copilot seat beside him, Nyssa was slumped forward against her seatbelt. Blood similarly dripped off her chin from an unidentified wound. Reaching across the throttle console, Oliver pulled her upright and pressed his fingers against her neck, finding a strong pulse under his touch.

Sparks popped from the control panel while larger eruptions in the sabotaged engines rocked the plane. He wasted no further time in working himself free of his restraints and proceeded to crawl behind Nyssa. Unbuckling her straps, he hauled her out of the copilot’s seat and into his arms, sending shards of glass clattering to the floor. As he carried his wife across the cargo hold and down the loading ramp, the two remaining engines ignited with a violent blast, nearly knocking Oliver off his feet.

Moving swiftly away from the combusting wreckage, he gently set Nyssa down against a large piece of fuselage that had torn free during their landing. Her bleeding had already begun to slow, the majority of it coming from somewhere above her right temple. A smaller laceration ran across her jaw bone on the same side.

Confident she would be all right as long as she didn’t have a concussion, Oliver directed his attention to their surroundings. They had landed in a dry field of the rural outskirts miles outside Starling. A line of trees obscured his view, but he assumed they were southeast of the city boundaries. It would be a long walk back to civilization and any mode of transportation.

He exhaled in frustration. That was time they didn’t have.

Turning back, he found Nyssa watching him quietly. “We’re still alive,” she noted blandly. 

He had a feeling she wasn’t referring to the crash. “Looks like it.”

Deeming her alert and lucid, Oliver was once again left to guess at her thoughts. His wife’s face had been unreadable when the plane’s engines began to fail, continuing as she stared at him over the edge of her father’s sword. He had searched her eyes for confirmation that she still stood with him but was confronted with only an impenetrable hardness. Then came the moment he declared his true name, causing that stoic mask to falter. Nyssa’s eyes had flickered from his own to her father and finally to the blade at her throat. It was the point of no return, and it wasn’t until he tossed his sword to his wife that she seemed to commit to her decision.

“For a minute, I thought you might have changed your mind back there,” Oliver recalled.

She shrugged a shoulder in casual admission. “I considered it. It would have been a simple thing,” she mused, “to wait you out, remain obedient in the background while you turned against my father.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Nyssa broke from his gaze, instead looking towards the tree line and the city beyond. “He would have unleashed the virus anyway just to make you watch. To allow thousands of innocents to die in vain hope that he might once again treat me as his heir, or even just his daughter…” She shook her head. “I could not.” She gave a grunt of self-deprecating despair. “It seems they will die anyway.”

“Not tonight. We can still stop this.”

“With what? Father sent the main task force ahead of us. They were already here awaiting our arrival. He will have more than enough men to overwhelm our efforts.”

“Then let’s hope we still have a few friends of our own.” Climbing to his feet, Oliver offered her his hand. “Are you with me?”

The woman hesitated while she assessed both his query and his gesture of aid. “I don’t see that I have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice, Nyssa, even if we don’t like the options.”

After one final deliberation, the assassin nodded her assent and accepted his hand while she stood. By that point, the fires of the plane’s engines had dwindled to a low smolder, and Oliver took the opportunity to reenter the cargo hold. He emerged a few moments later with his recurve bow in one hand, Nyssa’s compound bow in the other, and a green canvas pack marked by a red cross tucked under his arm.

“We should head for Palmer Tech,” he said, handing the compound bow to his wife. “If all went according to plan, the others should be back in Starling within the next few hours.”

Nyssa regarded the wreckage of the plane with a dubious expression. “If this is any indication of how your plans usually turn out, I fear for all of us.” She was silent for a minute as he rummage through the first aid kit for something they could use to clean the blood from themselves. Then, “Oliver, all of this has left me with one question.”

“Shoot.”

“Where did you learn to fly a cargo plane?”

Oliver looked up at her in surprise, then snorted. It wasn’t the question he was expecting. Not by far. “That’s…a long story.”


	3. Bound Together

Maybe it was the League’s proclivity for antiquated technology.

Maybe it was Nyssa’s seemingly gratuitous sense of superiority.

Maybe he simply hadn’t learned how to rely on others.

Whatever the cause, Oliver was surprised when Nyssa proved bypassing the combined security features of two genius-level tech experts to be a frighteningly easy task.

Dropping down from the ceiling through the air duct, his wife had an arrow nocked and aimed at his friends before he had even straightened his stance. He then saw why. Malcolm had motioned for Felicity and Laurel to stay put, and Ray hadn’t moved, but Diggle had his Glock in hand and aimed right back. The man appeared more taken off-guard than anything, but the threat of danger was clearly etched across his face.

This brought Oliver’s attention back to Nyssa. Her expression was hard and her gaze sharp, forcing him to wonder if she would so easily fire on the people who had tried to protect her a few short days before.

“Nyssa,” he prompted softly.

When she didn’t respond, Oliver placed a light hand on her elbow. Her eyes warily flickered down towards his touch, but she relented without question and lowered her bow. Satisfied she wasn’t going to kill anyone and seeing Diggle tuck his gun away, Oliver stepped towards his friend.

“John—”

“You son of a bitch!”

A hammer-like fist struck Oliver in the side of his jaw still tender from the previous night’s altercation with Nyssa, and he fell to the floor. His head ringing, Oliver laid still for a moment before gathering himself unsteadily to his knees. When he regained his bearings, he found Nyssa standing resolutely between him and Diggle, her bow raised with the tip of her arrow grazing the man’s throat.

“It’s okay,” he reassured her, his voice breathy with pain. “It’s all right.”

Reaching past her waist, he gave Nyssa’s bow arm a gentle push to redirect her arrow away from his friend’s neck. She once again complied without question, this time returning the arrow to her quiver as she stepped aside. It was a strange thing, he thought, for the woman who tried to kill him not twenty-four hours before to now defend him just as aggressively.

And he wasn’t alone in the sentiment.

“What the hell are you doing?” Laurel demanded.

Nyssa met her with a stony glare that likely had little to do with her pupil’s ire. “He is my husband,” she asserted firmly. “The privilege to hit him is now mine alone.”

The latter remark earned a soft grunt and a not-so dour look from Oliver.

“Your wife seems happy,” Felicity noted dryly as he climbed to his feet. “Enjoying your honeymoon?”

Though he didn’t move towards her for fear of being assaulted again, Oliver entreated the hacker with a soft look. “Felicity—”

“No, Oliver!” she snapped. “No, you don’t get to ‘Felicity’ me like nothing happened!”

“I was trying to protect you. All of you.”

“You lied to us. You _poisoned_ us—”

“Technically, I didn’t,” he cut in.

“Fine, you ‘ _fake’_ poisoned us,” Felicity amended with emphatic air quotes. “Did you also ‘ _fake’_ marry your lesbian wife? Who—by the way, Oliver—was your dead ex-girlfriend’s lover.” The man could only manage a contrite look to Nyssa as the hacker went on. “How is that protecting us? I mean, _my god_ , you even confided in fracking _Malcolm Merlyn_. Who— _by the way, Oliver_ —is the reason your wife’s lover is dead in the first place! I need a flow chart to keep up with how many levels of wrong this is!”

“She’s taking it well, then,” Nyssa murmured.

“Better than you did,” Oliver returned. “She hasn’t tried to stab me yet. Or choke me,” he added as an afterthought. The assassin abstained from retort, instead simply returning his gaze as unapologetically as ever. Letting out a breath, Oliver gestured his chin towards Felicity and Diggle while addressing the rest of the team. “Could you guys give us a minute?”

“Sure thing,” Ray agreed. “You clearly have some stuff to work out.”

Malcolm was slightly less accommodating. “City in peril, people. Don’t take too long.”

Laurel took her leave silently, appearing more than a little disgruntled at her exclusion from Team Arrow’s inner circle. Nyssa lingered at his side as the others left, watching him questioningly. Oliver in turn gave her a small but grateful nod of reassurance. With a final leery glance towards Diggle, the assassin turned on her heel and walked out of the lab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found Angry!Felicity to be a difficult voice to pin down, but fear not. There will be classic Awkward!Felicity in a later scene that I hope will do her better justice.
> 
> Stay tuned for some Nyssa POV in the next couple scenes. Thanks for reading!


	4. Blessings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added chapter titles using words and phrases from Oliver and Nyssa's wedding ceremony.

It didn’t take Nyssa long to locate the departed trio. Pausing outside the break room they had entered, she weighed her options. Further down the hall was a door marked as roof access, while the break room contained three of the people she would inevitably be working with that night. She quickly decided she couldn’t stomach the sight of Malcolm Merlyn even when necessity called for it—let alone when it didn’t—she had never met Ray Palmer, and Laurel…

The assassin resumed her stride. Laurel wouldn’t understand, and Nyssa wouldn’t know where to begin.

Ascending the stairs at the end of the corridor, she passed through the thick metal door that led out to the roof. She knew she was likely setting off more of Palmer’s alarms, but she no longer cared. Above her and still embedded in the housing of the Palmer Technologies sign was the zip line she and Oliver had used to gain access from the adjacent building. She briefly considered using it to leave and do some reconnaissance, but she discarded the idea. This was Oliver’s city, and as much as she hated to relinquish control, she would have to defer to his lead.

Instead, she crossed the asphalt to the ledge and breathed in the cool air. Starling City wasn’t a grand vista be any means; most American cities were actually quite common in appearance. Even in the dead of night, the noise was loud enough to grate her ears, and the glow of its industry was bright enough to veil the stars. Nevertheless, Sara’s hometown had always sparked a sense of nostalgia in Nyssa not unlike the assassin’s own birthplace.

She had traveled to countless cities across the world: Buenos Aires and Algiers, Venice and Barcelona, Shanghai and Kuala Lumpur. The list went on. All were stunning in their own right, and she could immerse herself in any of them, but none compared to the peaceful beauty of Nanda Parbat, a place she still longed for in spite of all that had happened.

Interrupting her thoughts, the door behind her opened and closed, and a lifetime of indoctrination couldn’t stop the sigh from escaping her lips. Laurel stepped up next to her without ceremony, having long since grown comfortable with such proximity.

“I’m sorry for earlier,” the woman began, thwarting Nyssa’s hopes to forego this conversation.

“Why?”

Laurel shook her head in regret. “That’s not how I imagined being able to talk to you again. I just…I can’t believe you’re actually married to him.”

“The thought does not lift spirit for me either,” Nyssa admitted needlessly.

“But you protected him. Against _us_.”

The hurt and accusation in her friend’s voice was unmistakable, but it didn’t curb the wry quirk to Nyssa’s lips as she repeated her earlier statement. “He is my husband.” With the term still repugnant to her own ears, she quickly sobered. “We all do what we must to survive.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Laurel studying her profile. “What happened?”

“Does it matter?” the assassin returned jadedly. “It’s done. I will not say I did not have choice in the affair, but the alternative promised me was…even less appealing.”

“You don’t sound nearly angry enough.”

“Believe me, I am. But anger serves no purpose unless directed at those responsible for it. As much as I would like to continue blaming Oliver Queen for all my life’s tribulations, he now stands my best chance at being free of my father. One way or another.”

The deep furrow to the attorney’s brow didn’t lessen. “A week ago, you were convinced he was going to kill you.”

“And he would have had Father not stopped him.” Nyssa gave a derisive snort. “It seems Mister Queen has finally learned to do what is necessary.”

The comment seemed to resonate with Laurel, rendering her mute for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was thick with tension as though the words physically pained her. “Oliver didn’t…I mean, you didn’t have to…”

“No.”

And she left it at that. Even now, her father’s dispassionate revelation of her mother’s fate and how he expected the same of his daughter threatened to dismantle Nyssa entirely. It was a memory only made worse by the tenderness with which Ra’s had later spoken of Amina. Oliver’s immediate offer to sleep on the floor after their late-night conversation had only proven a fleeting consolation, and she had no desire to relive such indignities with Laurel.

As it was, her companion was only partly mollified. “Good. Because if he had, I’d kill him.”

There was a venom in Laurel’s threat beyond the customary exaggeration many Americans seemed prone to, but it was not the first time the attorney had exhibited such brazen protectiveness over her. Nyssa recalled the instance just days before when Laurel had resolutely placed herself in the path of John Diggle’s misdirected wrath. It would have been amusing had the circumstances not been grim and the implications increasingly complex. She doubted Laurel was even fully aware of her own motivations.

“I can’t believe you’re married to him,” the other woman repeated dejectedly.

Filing away her previous train of thought, Nyssa scoffed. “I’m sure Father would claim it a show of affection to have so spared my life.”

“But to force you to marry  _Oliver_ —”

“He is Ra’s al Ghul, and I am his daughter.”

Nyssa bit back a swell of frustration. The absence of pride in her declaration was only made more hollow by the need to interpret it for the sake of her friend’s comprehension. For the initiated, it would have been answer enough. Laurel, however, was neither familiar with the League’s culture nor molded by its laws. She was the product of a modernly idealistic world and saw offenses where there was only precedent, solutions were there was only consequence. It had often proven a troublesome barrier between them, perhaps now more than ever. How could Nyssa pacify the woman with explanation when she herself was caught between seething hatred of her father for his actions and reluctant understanding of his reasons?

“He gave command that would protect his lineage, and I was to obey,” she reasoned. “Honestly, there was a time I would scarcely have thought twice about it.”

Laurel cringed in distaste. “What changed?”

A sense of serenity washed over Nyssa before the name even left her tongue, and her vexation evaporated. “Sara,” she answered with the barest hint of a smile. “She changed everything. I had taken other women before, but Father never minded because none held meaning to me. Sara was different.”

Laurel fell silent as Nyssa continued, listening with that tranquil attentiveness she always displayed whenever the assassin spoke of her sister.

“She always believed herself to be wreathed in darkness, even in the beginning. The truth is, Sara was not born in the darkness as I was. She was the brightest thing I knew, throwing all else into shadow.” Turning from the cityscape, Nyssa saw tears in her friend’s eyes. “Laurel, you must understand. Father’s disapproval was not that I fell in love with a woman. It was not that I fell in love with _Sara_. It was that I _fell in love_. He believes such attachment a weakness, and he would not have his heir so afflicted as he once was. And even then, it wasn’t until Sara left that he raised firmer voice against it.” She released a breath of resignation. “Perhaps he was right.”

Laurel’s eyes widened. “Nyssa…no. You can’t mean—”

“I would not trade my time with Sara for anything.” Nyssa quickly clarified, “but I can no longer deny that I lack the fortitude I once reveled in. Twice I told Father I would sooner die than marry Al Sah-him, and yet here I stand, bound to him all the same. I wonder now if I could have been stronger, fought harder against his wishes.” She felt a burning behind her eyes and struggled to contain it. “Maybe then I would not have dishonored my beloved’s memory with empty words and idle hands.”

Laurel didn’t say anything for a while, leaving Nyssa at the mercy of her own shame and vulnerability. The months and years she spent under the tempering influence of the Lance sisters couldn’t erase the instinct to chafe against such a state of mind, but she swiftly silenced the voice of doubt in her mind. She was not her father. If there was a price for embracing a few stolen moments of humanity, she would pay it.

It took a while, but Laurel eventually found her voice. “When I spent time with Sara after we reconciled,” she began haltingly, “she never quite seemed like herself. Even when she was with Ollie, she was always…sad. Like something was missing. I never understood what that was…until I saw her with you. Sara _loved_ you. She would have wanted you to do whatever it took to rise up and fight another day.”

Nyssa could only nod in acceptance and tried not to flinch when Laurel took her hand and gave it a squeeze. It was an unconscious reaction, one that had refused to fade completely when even Sara would catch her off guard.

“For whatever it’s worth,” Laurel went on, “I’m glad you did. When they took you, I…I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, and I couldn’t…” She exhaled heavily. “I don’t know. I hadn’t felt like that since…since Sara.” Laurel snorted in embarrassment at her own admission. “I couldn’t even drink my milkshake.”

The corner of the assassin’s mouth twitched. “Good heavens, you _must_ have been traumatized.”

“I sense you mocking me,” the attorney parroted in a well-timed imitation.

Despite herself—and as had become a common occurrence when Laurel was involved—Nyssa couldn’t help but smile, and the other woman beamed in response. It was a welcome reprieve, but it ended as abruptly as it began when Nyssa’s eyes fell to their linked hands.

Laurel had not been alone in thinking they would never see each other again. Realistically, the night was young enough they may yet be so separated, and the knowledge caused Nyssa a flash of guilt for allowing them both to circle the maturing elephant in the room without recognition or resolution. After all they had been through, her friend deserved more than that.

“Laurel—”

The sound of the door opening cut her off, and they looked back to see Malcolm poking his head out.

“Oliver wants us.”


	5. Captive

When Oliver quietly called her name, she knew.

It was the look on his face, the same look he had worn seven months earlier when she had come looking for Sara. No words were exchanged, only steady eye contact as she waited to feel something, some flicker of sentiment. When none came, she dropped her gaze from his and nodded in sober acceptance.

Her father was dead.

With only a whispered question of where his body was, she withdrew from the lab. She needed to see it, needed to confirm for herself that the Demon’s Head was truly gone. The walk to her destination seemed to stretch for an unnatural length of time, and a cold knot grew in the pit of her stomach with each step. Upon reaching the specified location in the lower levels of Palmer Technologies, a flash of doubt swelled in her mind— _what if Oliver was wrong?_ —and she hesitated outside the door.

It was an irrational fear, she knew, but the plague of mistrust was not easily dispelled. Her husband had once been fooled by Malcolm Merlyn, and the Magician had only spent a couple years with the League. Surely Ra’s al Ghul could be just as convincing.

Gripping her bow a little tighter, she opened the door and approached the shrouded body on the table within. There, a final moment of indecision stalled her hand. Berating herself for being childish, she grit her teeth and pulled back the cloth.

It was different than she thought it would be.

She had been around death her entire existence—had more often than not been the cause of it. She knew the pallor and the scent, the twitches and the sounds. She knew every grisly detail, every facet and every shade, but a lifetime of fatalities couldn’t prepare her for that moment.

Her father was _dead_.

She had once believed him to be invincible: the immortal Head of the Demon, her lord and god. He had bled from a hundred wounds, but not once had he fallen. Yet there he lay, a clean rift through his chest amidst flesh otherwise unmarred by grace of the Lazarus waters: his harsh voice eternally silenced, never again to scorch her ears; his violent hands forever stilled, never again to cause her injury; his sharp gaze now vacant, never again to cast disapproving glare.

She had expected a feeling of satisfaction, of liberation, of redress. After the pain and betrayal suffered at his hand—the hand that had, for better or worse, shaped her into the person she thought she was supposed to be—she believed herself entitled to it. Yet what she was left with was nothing. No family to steady her. No lover to hold onto. No birthright to strive for. Even her anger had been stripped away from her.

She wanted it back.

Anger had been the only thing holding her together, but already the recent traumas inflicted on her were beginning to fade into the background as older memories slowly resurfaced. After all, had her father not once spoken to her with tenderness and respect? Had he not once handled her with gentle paternal care? Had he not once gazed upon her with affection and pride? Nyssa flinched in surprise at the hot watery drop that rolled down her cheek.

Her _father_ was dead.

It was only in that moment she recognized the truth; his life hadn’t been ended by Oliver Queen.

It had been ended by Ra’s al Ghul.


	6. Man and Woman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes 2 outtakes at the end just for kicks.

The sun was only just beginning to rise by the time everyone had rendezvoused back at Palmer Technologies, and Oliver had never been happier to see it. Truthfully, he had been starting to think that night would never end.

Following their wordless exchange, Nyssa had withdrawn from the lab like a drifting shadow, silent and alone. In her wake, a hush had descended over the rest of the team as the momentum of the past few hours—the past few weeks, the past few months—tapered off and the impact began to sink in. Felicity was being helped out of the ATOM suit by Ray. Diggle was absently cleaning his Glock. Thea and Laurel were conversing in low whispers. Malcolm was cycling through news reports to monitor the aftermath of the virus outbreak.

Oliver himself was taking off his League uniform. He fully intended to never put it on again, though he couldn’t deny that its unidentified fiber weave armor was superior to the Kevlar of his Arrow suit. After removing his gear, he contemplated his arrowhead totem for a thoughtful moment before placing it on top of the discarded jacket and Gi.

“You’re bleeding again,” a voice noted softly behind him.

He turned to regard Nyssa, mildly disconcerted by her quick reappearance. Her eyes were dry, but there was a degree of detachment hidden within their otherwise cognizant gaze as they flickered down towards his hand.

She motioned to the chair behind him. “Sit down.”

Oliver followed her previous line of sight down to the sword wound across his palm. “It’s nothing.”

“ _Sit_.”

He blinked at her tone and slowly complied, his eyes not leaving hers as he lowered himself into the chair. Only Nyssa al Ghul could infuse the delicate balance of discreet concern and unyielding force into a one-word command.

After retrieving the first aid box that had been laying out near Diggle, his wife removed her gloves and took his injured hand between her own to assess its severity. She soon sighed in evident displeasure—one didn’t stop a sword with his bare hand without being cut down to bone—and she set to work cleaning away the blood and grime.

Free of the ATOM suit and hovering at a nearby computer station, Felicity was attempting to monitor their interaction without being noticed. Despite her covert vigilance, though, the hacker didn’t appear overly upset.

As Nyssa moved on to carefully stitch his palm, Oliver watched her with faint curiosity. The assassin’s touch was soft and warm, surprisingly gentle and not at all what he expected from her given their tumultuous history. In their past encounters, she had ever been the Daughter of the Demon, volatile at the best of times and lethal at others. Even when he had found her crying in Sara’s safe house following the blonde’s death, the woman had been cold and hard like steel, sharp as the blade she held to his throat.

Oliver’s eyes slowly fell to where a white bandage was being wrapped around his hand. Perhaps this was the side of her that Sara—and more recently, Laurel—had been privy to.

Pulling him from his thoughts, Nyssa broke her silence with quiet acknowledgment. “You killed him.”

He lifted his gaze back to her face but found her eyes had yet to stray from her task. “I had to.”

“I wanted to be the one,” she admitted in little more than a whisper.

“I know.”

For once, Oliver left it at that. If anyone had equal right to kill the Demon’s Head, it was Nyssa. He didn’t try to tell her all the reasons why she _shouldn’t_ have killed Ra’s, didn’t try to explain the guilt that would haunt her forever had she taken her own father’s life. Instead, he waited until she was finished tying his bandage, then closed his fingers around hers and lightly covered them with his free hand. Though she briefly grew tense, she didn’t resist the gesture as she finally returned his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he told her softly.

“Why?”

“Because he was your father.”

She shook her head with a distant sadness. “You were right before. My father was lost to me long ago.” A knowledge, Oliver imagined, that only amplified the grief she seemed determined to deny. “You’re lucky to be alive,” she mused in that same subdued manner.

As with the plane crash, Oliver sensed she wasn’t merely referring to the obvious trauma of taking three high-powered rifle shots to the chest. Nevertheless, the more elusive meaning behind her comment slipped away when the corner of her mouth curled up.

“Perhaps you should not be so eager to shed your League armor,” she continued with the barest hint of playful smugness, triggering a warm smile from Oliver.

Felicity chose that moment to edge closer with a bashful grin. “I’d like to think I helped with that a little.”

It was then Oliver remembered his hands were still linked with Nyssa’s. He casually—but promptly—let his hands fall away from his wife’s at the same instant Nyssa calmly—but purposefully—turned from him to reassemble the first aid kit.

“Yes,” he agreed, turning his attention to the hacker. “You did. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Felicity gave a little bounce. “So…me or Nyssa?”

Oliver’s smile vanished, uncertain what she meant but afraid nonetheless. “What?”

“Who does it better?” Before he could react, Felicity’s eyes widened in horror. “I mean, not _it_ …it,” she attempted to clarify. “Because you two clearly didn’t do…that…” She gestured towards his bandaged hand. “I was talking about field dressings.” Her gaze suddenly grew sharp. “You didn’t, right?”

“Felicity.”

“Of course you didn’t. Why would you want to?” The hacker shook herself and quickly backtracked. “Not that you both aren’t extremely _it-_ able—you’d have very attractive scowly children together—you just aren’t, you know… _together_. You’re kind of the wrong gender. Very…masculine. Not to mention the whole Sara factor, which I—”

_“Felicity.”_

“—am going to stop talking about in three, two, one…zero.” Felicity took a breath and pressed her lips together. “…minus one. Yes?”

“No.”

“What?” Her eyes flickered over to Nyssa and soon alit with understanding. “Oh. Good.” She took a step towards the assassin with her hands held out in appeasement. “I’m sorry, that was a dumb question. Sometimes the only thing that works faster than my brain is my mouth.” Oliver stifled a cough, and Felicity shook herself again in growing mortification. “I mean my tongue— _talking_! My _talking_ , which I promised I would stop doing.”

For her part, Nyssa had listened to the hacker’s monologue with a dour expression. “Sara was right,” she noted grimly. Then, a smirk crept across her face. “You are cute when you’re flustered.”

“She’s always cute,” Oliver corrected fondly, earning a head tilt from the woman in question.

It felt a lifetime ago that Oliver could stand in a room with the people he cared about—and a couple he didn’t—and actually be himself. To be able to look them in the eyes and not worry about them seeing through his farce. To be able to say the things he wanted to say and not fear the repercussions. When his charade as Al Sah-him began, he hadn’t expected that day to ever come again.

It wasn’t a second chance; he had already had that when he was rescued from the island. He also wasn’t naïve enough to believe things would go back to what they were. Still, he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity given him.

And he was going to start with Felicity.

Everything about her in that moment was what he had feared would be lost to him forever. Her serene smile. Her hands that had surreptitiously made their way into his. The way her eyes had lit up when he asked her to come with him. Even surrounded by his sister, his sister’s morally corrupt father, his estranged best friend, his ex-girlfriend, his lover’s ex-boyfriend, and his rival-turned-wife, all Oliver wanted to do was kiss Felicity. He lifted a hand to her neck, not caring who was watching.

Until Nyssa shifted uncomfortably behind him.

“Oliver.”

With a sharp intake of breath, the man took a step back from Felicity and met the assassin’s gaze. “Okay, wasn’t expecting that.”

Ignoring the remark, she made for the door. “We need to talk.” 

* * *

_** Outtake 1 ** _

_“Of course you didn’t. Why would you want to?” The hacker shook herself and quickly backtracked. “Not that you both aren’t extremely_ it _-able—you’d have very attractive scowly children together. I mean, my god, that jaw line—you just aren’t, you know…_ together _. You’re kind of the wrong gender. Very…masculine. And Nyssa’s not really your type of…” Felicity trailed off and seemed to reconsider. “…gorgeous, black leather-wearing, booty-kicking woman with father issues. Huh. Nyssa is_ completely _your type.”_

_“Felicity.”_

_“And that’s barely touching the whole Sara factor.” Her head tipped to the side in contemplation. “And…Laurel factor, now that I—”_

“Felicity.”

_“—am going to stop in three, two, one…zero.” Felicity took a breath and pressed her lips together. “…minus one. Yes?”_

_By that point, Oliver could only shake his head._

_“You needn’t worry, Miss Smoak,” Nyssa assured her. She sent her husband a sidelong glance. “Oliver slept on the floor like the well-trained dog he is.”_

_“Oh. Good.”_

_“Amazing,” Thea drawled. “My brother managed to marry the one woman in all the world who can crack the whip_ and _refuse to sleep with him. Is it wrong that I’m totally on board with this?”_

_“Yes,” Oliver and Felicity answered at the same time._

_Oliver then sent a questioning glance to Nyssa at her silence._

_The assassin gave a small shrug. “Apologies. I assumed my two attempts on your life were answer enough.”_

* * *

_** Outtake 2 ** _

_Sidling up to Nyssa, Thea casually leaned against the desk. “So…we’re, like, sisters now.”_

_“I’m still going to kill him, Thea,” the assassin replied with neither ceremony nor repentance._

_“Seriously?”_

_“Painfully and with great relish.”_

_With a pensive expression, the newly minted vigilante studied Malcolm as he continued to lurk on the other side of the lab. “…can I watch?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else suddenly realizing that Nyssa is technically related to Malcolm now?
> 
> Three scenes to go! We'll see a final talk between the newlyweds, a farewell with Laurel, and the story will close with Nyssa just being Nyssa.


	7. Forever Joined

“We need to talk.”

His wife walked out of the lab without further delay, leaving Oliver to share a sheepish look with Felicity. Offering the hacker a whispered apology, he trailed after Nyssa and followed her into one of the offices down the hall. There, the assassin set her compound bow down on the desk. Unless she planned to kill him with her bare hands—which he couldn’t rule out—he took it as a positive sign. The sullen expression on her face, however, was not.

“Why do I have a feeling I’m not going to like this?” he posed.

Nyssa took in a deep lungful of air and let it out in a single declarative statement. “We were wed, Oliver.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” he assured her.

“Yet you speak of leaving Starling in the arms of your beloved without a care in the world.”

Unsure of the exact motive behind her discontent, Oliver couldn’t formulate a response. He could only guess that explanations and apologies weren’t what she was looking for.

“When you yielded to my father’s demands with designs towards subverting him,” she continued, “you said you did so in full awareness of what would be sacrificed. A valiant gesture, had the sacrifices required been only your own, or had you any intention of honoring those that were made.”

“Nyssa—”

 _“‘You will never be free,’”_ she recited bitterly. “Did you think there would not be consequences?”

“They’re just words, Nyssa.”

Her expression hardened. “Every marriage in every culture across the world is formed of _just words_. Do you think the signed slips of paper your country employs hold any greater significance?” She shook her head. “No, Oliver. It is by the will of those who sanction and witness such unions that uphold them, even when husband and wife themselves do not. The Demon’s laws are absolute, and within the realm of His influence, we are unequivocally married. My father’s death and the deal you made change nothing. So long as I am still of the League, I am bound by its customs whether I wish it or not, and you now stand equally fettered.”

“What—” Oliver blew out a breath before trying again. “What are you asking of me?”

“I shouldn’t have to ask for anything,” Nyssa snapped. “Not like this.” She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, the anger in her voice fading to despair. “Never like this…”

“Nyssa…”

On impulse, Oliver lifted his uninjured hand to her cheek. She drew in a sharp breath at his touch, and her own hand instinctively shot up to catch his wrist. He counted himself lucky the reflex fell short of a more aggressive reaction, but then he saw her eyes. They weren’t filled with outrage like he expected. Instead, they glistened with unforeseen tears. With concern creasing his brow and words of comfort on his tongue, he was on the verge of trying to soothe the injury he had caused when a small but desperate shake of her head dissuaded him.

That she hadn’t wanted to marry him was never a doubt, but the possibility she would feel a sense of obligation—however reluctant—hadn’t occurred to him. In truth, he hadn’t considered the lasting effects their marriage would have because he never expected to survive long enough for it to matter.

Perhaps the most unexpected shock came when Oliver realized that Nyssa, like him, was caught between conflicting identities: a weapon of the League who followed the laws of her homeland, and the woman underneath who followed the laws of her heart.

He slowly let his hand slip away from her face. “What are you asking of me?” he repeated more gently.

Nyssa let go of his wrist, and her unshed tears soon ebbed away. “Nothing,” she eventually relented, sounding altogether defeated. “Outside the League, I will hold you to nothing. Within it…” She sighed. “Only the Demon’s Head can dissolve such a thing.”

“And…I’m not the Demon’s Head.”

“No. Nor am I,” she reminded pointedly.

Oliver cringed. “It was a necessary concession.”

“One to be rectified.” She held up a hand before he could apologize. “I think you were a fool to make such a bargain, but I understand your reasons. As it stands, my current position would have demanded nothing short of killing my father myself in order to take his place, and even then, my ascension would have been tentative at best. I will just have to settle for killing Merlyn instead, once opportunity arises.” She pinned him with a hard stare. “Promise me you will not try to stop me when it does.”

Now it was Oliver’s turn to grapple for an answer. He thought of his father and his sister. He thought of Tommy and Sara. He thought of the hundreds of people that had suffered and died at Malcolm Merlyn’s hands. And he thought of the vow he made to not be the killer he once was. Could he honor Sara’s memory without dishonoring Tommy’s?

Oliver gave himself a mental shake. It was no longer up to him to honor—or dishonor—Sara. He had already decided not to kill Malcolm.

But that didn’t mean he had to save him.

“I promise.”

“Then that is what I will hold you to,” Nyssa returned.

“Are you sure you can go through with this until then?”

His wife gave a soft grunt. “I have faced many challenges in my life, suffered many indignities—most of which have occurred in the past week—and yet I endure. It will not be easy, but I vowed justice for Sara, and there is no measure to what I am willing to do to obtain it.”

“Nyssa…” Oliver paused to sort out what he wanted to say. “I have known many women in my life, most of them far stronger than I am. Mentally, emotionally…sometimes physically.” His wife cracked a tiny grin, and he returned it before turning serious again. “It has been a privilege to count you among them.” He waited a beat. “When you’re not trying to kill me.”

Nyssa snorted. “You act as though I have tried for the last time.”

“Have you?”

For a moment, she simply stared at him, her face unreadable. “Probably not. You owe me a rematch.”

This time, Oliver broke out a genuine smile. “Only if you promise not to let me win again.” Nyssa rewarded him with a smirk. “Does this mean you’re not going to put an arrow through me for running off with another woman?”

His wife shook her head. “Not today. Go be with your beloved.” Her tone turned wistful. “One of us should be.”

Oliver’s smile grew softer. With greater discretion than his previous impulses, he touched a single finger to Nyssa’s jaw near the small cut she had acquired in the plane crash. She appraised him with mildly wary look but held statue still as he cautiously pressed a light kiss to her cheek. Once he stepped back, Nyssa calmly picked up her bow and headed for the door.

“You’re not going to say goodbye to them?” Oliver wondered.

The assassin stopped just short of the threshold. “There is only one person in that room I would care to share farewells with. And I will.” She appeared to hesitate, then turned enough to meet his gaze. “Oliver…he will use our union against you.”

Admittedly, the warning came as a surprise, and he could only acknowledge it with a mute bow of his head. Nyssa took one final moment to contemplate the space between them—or more likely the invisible tether that bound them—before giving him a parting nod.

“Be well, Oliver.”

With that, she was gone.

“You, too,” he said to the empty room.

He remained rooted in place for a time after she left, struck by the unexpected weight of her absence. For better or worse, Nyssa had been an undeniable presence during the past year and a half, ever the enigmatic shadow as she glided in and out of his life. This time, though, there was a degree of finality in her departure. Too much had changed, and neither one of them would be the same person come the day they crossed paths again.

They would never be friends. He knew that. But maybe—just maybe—they wouldn’t have to be enemies anymore.


	8. Shared Life

Seven months and a lifetime had passed since she first visited her beloved’s grave and found Laurel already standing beside it. Back then, Nyssa had been met with fearful shock and no meager amount of anger amidst the chill of night. Now, it was a melancholy smile warmed by the mid-morning sun that greeted her as Laurel respectfully stepped aside.

Giving her friend a nod of appreciation, Nyssa knelt before the headstone and spoke softly in Arabic. [“ _Forgive me, Beloved, for all I have done and what I have yet to do. Know that I will not fail you again._ ”]

She started to rise, but a tug at her heart pulled her back. Surrendering to a rare moment of weakness, Nyssa reached out a hand and lightly traced her fingers across the stone bearing her lover’s name.

[“ _I am with you, Sara,_ ”] she whispered, [" _in this life and the next._ ”]

She waited until the watery blur of her vision cleared before she stood and withdrew from the grave. Even then, she couldn’t quite meet Laurel’s eye when the woman fell into step beside her.

“Was that a prayer?” the attorney wondered with quiet curiosity.

“A promise.”

Accepting the answer for what it was, Laurel took an audible breath. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Nyssa nodded in confirmation. “Where will you go?”

“Home.”

The attorney’s shoulders dropped in obvious disappointment, but she kept her tone upbeat. “Starling could be home. We’re down a mask and a tech expert…we could use your help.” She grinned, though Nyssa could tell it was forced. “You’d even get a secret code name.”

“And if I already have one?” the assassin challenged playfully.

Laurel looked at her in surprise. “Wait, you do? What is it?”

“If I told you, it would no longer be secret, now would it?” Catching a glimpse of her friend’s hopeful expression, Nyssa halted her steps and turned to face her. “Laurel,” she began with a sigh, “Nanda Parbat, the League…they are my life, my family. I was always destined to return.”

“Daughter of the Demon,” Laurel echoed glumly.

Nyssa fought the urge to wince. Officially, it was now a title she could claim only in spirit, and the knowledge sparked a sting of loss. She had devoted her life to that birthright, had built her reputation, not by riding the coattails of her father’s bloodline, but by earning her place at his side with the blood of others. Now that such eminence had been stripped away, all she was left with was that very blood on her hands.

What other life could she lead?

As she had once told Laurel, happiness was not something that was ever meant for her. She was a ghost and a killer, phasing in and out of other people’s lives and leaving a trail of bodies in her wake. Her father’s death hadn’t changed that.

The truth was, Nyssa didn’t know how to be anything else.

Oblivious to the assassin’s thoughts, Laurel wandered over to a bench under a flowering tree and sat down. “What’s going to happen now that Oliver isn’t becoming the next Ra’s?” she asked. “Is he leaving the League to you? It’d make a nice wedding gift. That and an annulment.”

Nyssa chuckled, but there was a sadness behind it. “Unfortunately, it is not that simple. You needn’t worry, though. All will be set right in the end. I intend to make sure of it.”

Laurel was still for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet and reflective. “I was going to save you, you know.”

“Save me?”

The woman nodded slowly. “From all this: the League, your father, Oliver.” She scoffed. “Dinah Laurel Lance, always trying to save the world,” she declared with a generous dose of self-mockery. “But I can’t ever seem to save the people closest to me.”

Nyssa watched the attorney wring her hands before choosing to sit down next to her. “But you have. You were there for me at a time when I had no one else, reminded me that though Sara was ripped from me, my heart still beats. For that, I will forever be grateful. What’s happening now is not due to any failure on your part.”

“Then why do I feel like I’m losing them all over again?” When the assassin didn’t volunteer an explanation, Laurel looked to her with wide eyes. “Nyssa, I don’t want you to go,” she admitted. “I know that’s selfish, but for the first time in years, I finally feel like I’m really making a difference in this city, and you’re a big part of that.”

Nyssa shook her head. “I merely guided you from a path that was certain to get you killed and taught you what you needed to survive. The rest has been up to you.”

“It felt like more than that.”

The statement was stark enough to cause Nyssa to freeze momentarily and wonder if Laurel was aware of the line she was treading. “What do you mean?” she asked carefully.

“I wish I knew,” Laurel lamented. “It doesn’t make sense. You’re an _assassin_ —you had me poisoned, you kidnapped my mother, you assaulted my father—but I’ve felt safer and stronger with you these past couple months than with people I’ve known for years. Now that you’re leaving, I feel like I’m losing a part of me again, and I’m not even sure I know why. Every time I try to come up with an answer, it just gets more complicated.”

The assassin listened to her friend with a knowing patience. From the way she had equally compared Nyssa’s departure to both losing her sister and her lover, ‘complicated’ seemed to be a fair assessment. It was with no small measure of hesitation Nyssa chose her reply, but she couldn’t leave without extending her pupil one last act of guidance, and there were some things that couldn’t be expressed or explained in words.

“Then allow me to simplify it for you.”

Before Laurel could question what she meant, Nyssa raised a hand to the other woman’s cheek and pressed their lips together. It was candid, it was chaste, and it felt very much like kissing her lover’s sister, but this moment hadn’t been about herself. When they parted a few seconds later, the attorney was wearing a look of utter perplexity, confirming what the assassin had already suspected.

“How is that supposed to simplify things?” Laurel asked, stunned.

“By giving you an answer.” When the woman’s bewilderment only intensified, Nyssa placed a light hand on her arm. “You’re not in love with me, Laurel.” She said it as gently as she could, but the other woman nonetheless let out a breath of shock as her mouth fell open. “You’ve been struggling with it for some time, I know, wondering if your feelings were genuine…” She looked to her beloved’s grave. “…or if you were merely clinging to lingering vestiges of Sara.” When Laurel remained at a loss, Nyssa gave a mild verbal prod. “Am I wrong?”

Laurel could only shake her head at first. Then, “…no…no, I don’t think so. How did—” Her voice cracked, and she started over. “How did you know?” The assassin gave a tiny noncommittal shrug. “Did you? Struggle with it?”

Nyssa’s gaze was once again drawn towards the headstone. From the moment she had approached Laurel in the beginning, she had admitted to craving a reminder of Sara, but what Laurel was asking ran deeper than that. Though Nyssa didn’t want to lie, she worried the truth would be a harder blow to recover from. Bracing herself, she chose the only answer she could live with, careful to keep her face impassive and her voice steady as she looked her friend in the eyes.

“No.”

There was a pregnant silence while Laurel digested the response, and her expression flickered through a spectrum of emotions before settling on what Nyssa saw as a poor attempt at relief. “Good. That’s...good.”

“I’m sorry, Laurel.”

“No! No, don’t be. I should be the one apologizing. I probably made this harder for you.”

“You didn’t,” Nyssa assured her, ignoring the way her stomach tightened with guilt. “Laurel, we were both seeking something from each other. After losing Sara…it was natural. But you don’t need me in order to hold on to your sister. She is in your heart, and she is with you every time you put on that mask.”

A look of genuine solace came over Laurel, and she closed her eyes for a brief time as though to brace against the remaining traces of tension and embarrassment that had engulfed her. When she opened her eyes again, she appeared a little more at peace. “Thank you for this,” she breathed. “I need more honesty in my life, even if it has to come from someone else.”

Nyssa gave her arm an affectionate squeeze, then stood from the bench. “I have to go,” she announced ruefully. “Are you going to be all right?”

“I will be.”

After taking a moment to appraise her friend, the assassin gave a nod of approval and started to walk away. “Yes, I expect you will.”

“So you’re really not going to tell me your code name, huh?” Laurel called, prompting Nyssa to turn.

“Maybe one day soon you will have opportunity to learn it.” With that, the assassin offered one final farewell. “Goodbye, my friend. Until we meet again. And Laurel?” She smirked. “Don’t forget to turn your hips.” 

* * *

**_ Outtake 1 _ **

_“You’d even get a secret code name. I’m thinking…Black Hawk._ ”

_Nyssa lifted a single eyebrow. “You would name me after a class of helicopter?”_

_“Actually, I was thinking of the country music band,” Laurel deadpanned, “but whichever.”_

_The assassin rolled her eyes, only afterward trying to remember the last time she had indulged in such a frivolous gesture. “I don’t think it would be a good idea.”_

_“Why not?”_  
  
_“I’m fairly certain hawks like to eat canaries.” While Nyssa hadn’t necessarily intended the innuendo, she was enjoying the look on Laurel’s face as the attorney sputtered in response. Suppressing a smirk, the assassin went on. “Besides, what makes you think I don’t already have a secret code name?”_

* * *

**_ Outtake 2 _ **

_“How did—” Laurel stopped when her voice cracked. “How did you know?”_

_Nyssa gave a tiny shrug. “You and your sister are more alike than you realize. The difference is, it was Sara who simplified things for me. I told you the first time I heard her laugh was the moment I fell in love with her, but it was a long time before I realized it. She, on the other hand, was quicker not only to recognize what she felt but to accept it. And…your sister was never one to ignore her impulses.” Seeing an odd look come over Laurel, Nyssa wilted slightly. “I’m sorry, Laurel. I shouldn’t have told you this.”_

_“No!” the attorney quickly jumped in. “No, it’s not that. I like listening to you talk about Sara. I was just remembering…she was always impulsive. It’s why she got on the_ Queen’s Gambit _with Oliver.” Laurel appeared to shake off the memory. “She really kissed you first?” The assassin gave a small nod. “Why does that surprise me?”_

_“It surprised me as well,” Nyssa admitted. “I was used to being the forward one. But when she did, everything just…suddenly made sense, and I had my answer. I’m hoping you now have yours.”_

* * *

**_ Outtake 3 _ **

_Laurel giggled in quiet embarrassment. “Can you imagine what would’ve happened if we had_ both _been confused about this? I mean, what would your husband think?” she posed dryly._

_“Considering he’s currently honeymooning with another woman, I doubt he would give much thought to it at all.”_

_From the look Laurel was giving her, Nyssa belatedly realized how bitter she sounded._

_“It bothers you, doesn’t it?” her friend inferred cautiously._  
  
_Nyssa waved it off. “Not for the reason you’re thinking.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, was Nyssa lying to Laurel or telling her the truth? I'll leave it for you to decide.
> 
> There's one more scene to go, so stick around and thanks again for reading!


	9. No Vow More Sacred

In spite of everything, Nyssa allowed herself a small smile.

Even wearing the Demon’s ring, surrounded by loyal assassins, and backed by the Lazarus Pit, the simpering weasel had almost looked ready to soil himself.

Oliver had been unconvinced that she would be so easily accepted back to Nanda Parbat, but she knew her value was too great to be cast aside, and Merlyn’s arrogance was too vast to go unfed. For that reason, the new Ra’s al Ghul had permitted her to retain a place in the League after her show of deference on the condition that she be stripped of all remnants of her former prominence.

Such command found her sitting on the cot of her new barracks room. By grace of her gender, she would inhabit the space alone, but it was far from the comforts of the lavish bedchamber she had grown accustomed to. Gone, too, were her custom-designed battle gear and her less often ventured formal garb. In their place, she had donned the standard uniform of the League, where even the red tips and fletches of her arrows had been exchanged for solid black. Hanging from her neck was the tooth of a large feline predator, polished white and mounted in ornate silver. Such totems and the names accompanying them were the only form of self-identity Shadows of the League were granted; one she hadn’t worn since she was a young teenager.

But she was no longer Heir to the Demon. She was no longer His daughter. Now she was merely a fang in the Demon’s maw; a leopard amongst the Shadows.

Unfurling her hand, Nyssa ran her eyes over the familiar object nestled within: a tiny yellow feather cast in a clear resin vial and strung on a leather cord. She had kept it hidden away for months, unwilling to risk discovery by her father. No such gamble haunted her now. Standing from her cot, she looped the vial around her neck and let it come to rest next to the tooth.

Pulling on her balaclava, she raised her hood.

Let Merlyn believe in the power he so tenuously held; he would not hold it for long. The Demon was a colossal beast not easily bridled, and Merlyn was not born in the darkness as she was. The moment his grip slipped even a little would be his last.

Until then, she would play the subservient vassal and bear the indignities forced on her. She had suffered her father. She had tolerated Oliver Queen. Now she would endure Malcolm Merlyn. It was almost amusing how eagerly—how ignorantly—he clambered to take their place. The Magician employed his craft well, but he would soon learn that the one who follows is forever at his back, and even a wounded leopard may yet bare tooth and claw.

Taking the canary feather in hand for a final lingering look, Nyssa tucked it out of sight under the black Gi of her uniform.

She would have justice, and she would not be alone in the taking of it.

_Fin._


End file.
